


A Capable Leader

by SoDoLaFaMiDoRe



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Body Horror, Deception, Fluff and Angst, Healthy Relationships, Kidnapping, Multi, Polyamory, Therapy, Vitiated consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:32:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3675825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe/pseuds/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elita is your normal Prime under the Autobot Command. When the nefarious Megatron enacts a dastardly scheme, all of the leader's are kidnapped! It's up to our heroine and a band of misfit 'Bots to take back the command and stomp out the Decepticons for good!</p>
<p>Adventure! Danger! Illicit Romance! All of these adjectives and more describe, "A Capable Leader!" Click the title to embark upon this epic journey!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dastardly Scheme

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to [herzspalter](http://herzspalter.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr! Their Reverse-Comics were what bred the idea for this story, and they're just absolutely an amazing artist and beautiful human being! This fic couldn't have happened without them, so mosey on over and look at her amazing work!
> 
> Another big thank you to [vienn_peridot](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot), for being a wonderful beta and friend! :::]
> 
> And a ginormous thank you to you, dear reader! Thank you for clicking on my story, and I hope you have a wonderful day! Without you, I wouldn't be half as inspired to write as I am now!
> 
> Anyways, onto the story, and I hope you enjoy!

     “Oh suck slag Sentinel.” Elita cursed for the ummpteeth time that joor, slopping solvents on the barracks to try and get Primus knows how many oil stains out of the floor. It wasn’t her fault his plans were flawed when it came to seeing potential threats! He thought just because he passed the aptitude test with a slightly higher score than her, he was suddenly the Magnus. Now while every other Prime was hearing Ultra Magnus speak about a Decepticon declaration of war from Megatron himself, she was stuck on base, listening over the group comm line Optimus had set up for her.

     “Hey Elita, the Magnus is debriefing everyone right now. It’s a basic one, they’re telling us when the message was received and that he needs everyone to remain calm.” The comm crackled to life with Optimus’ voice, as he’d promised he would keep her updated. There had been a growing tension on Cybertron ever since the news of the threat had spread, and even over the comm line Elita could hear the uneasy whispers of the Autobot Leaders and the low tones of Ultra Magnus addressing the crowd.

     Sentinel was listening in on the comm line too, and Elita wanted him to be in the barracks with her so she could slap him with a sudsy mesh. “Hey Elita, my girl! How’s cleaning?” She could see his smug face, whispering into the comm as the other leaders hushed and the buzzing in the background calmed down.

     “It would be a lot better if you were stuck here too.” She groused, fighting a particularly stubborn stain. It washed away much faster as she imagined it was his chin.

     “Sentinel pay attention, they’re about to start the video. Elita, I’ll update you when it finishes.” Optimus chastised. Elita strained an ear into the silence of her earpiece, catching the rumbling tones of a voice that wasn’t Ultra Magnus, and few hushed gasps from the leaders.

     ‘Optimus is probably loving this, that history nerd.’ Just as she felt she could make out a few words, her head was filled with a cacophony of chaos. She flinched, the mesh rag slapping her face as her fingers flew to the earpiece, trying to block out the noises that were crashing around and escalating.

     “Optimus, Optimus! What’s going on!?” The comm lines were going to static, and she could hear panicked shouts and screams with laser fire.

     “Elita! The cons have Optimus! They’ve got the Magnus! Is that-” A particularly loud burst of static, “-tron!” Elita wasn’t stupid, not many people had a Kaonic suffix like that in their name, and it made her coolant run cold.

     Megatron was in Iacon.

     Throwing down the rag, she running out the barracks, transforming to get to the closest telecommunication center. The whole time, her comm was eerily quiet, only the tiniest pops of static telling her it hadn’t been shut off completely. “Optimus? Sentinel? What happened? Are you alright? Come on, this isn’t funny!”

     Sprinting through the halls, she burst into the relay control room, vents heaving as she noted the tense atmosphere had only grown worse. One of the higher-ranked workers ran over, pinging her for her credentials and filling her in when he saw her rank of Prime.

     “It’s worse than we thought.” The worker offered at her panicked expression. “Megatron somehow got around the orbital defense and-” he paused, heaving a heavy sigh. “They have everyone.”


	2. A Sudden Promotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear Readers! This is a special treat, a new chapter publication after a few short days! Thank you to all who kudoed and read! I hope you enjoy! (If you see any formatting or writing mistakes, please, let me know!)

     “E-everyone?” Her knee struts shook, losing pressure as thought of just how many Autobots had just offlined if the Decepticons had waged a full assault.

     Cybertron’s leaders. Her coworkers. Her friends.

     “Do you have access to the Cybertron Intel Database?” Elita asked, attempting to process the information. Panicking wouldn’t do her any good now, letting Cybertron fall to the Decepticons spelt certain doom. Steeling herself, she followed the worker to a holo-terminal. Her processor felt frozen, pulling on what she’d learned at the academy and her short time as a Prime to handle the sudden changes, locking up and stuttering in her frightened state.

     Logging in, she immediately began to flag who she knew was missing; Ultra Magnus, Optimus, and Sentinel. After doing that, she wrote a data packet and sent it to the command center, waiting for a ping to see if anyone was left alive.

     She resisted the urge to tap her pede as the kilks dragged on, a rather large data packet being sent back to her by Longarm Prime, along with a flagged note telling her to contact him via holovid as quickly as possible. She scrolled through the names, nearly everyone ranked Prime or above gone, including the High Council and a few lower agents caught up in the mess.

     “Excuse me,” she called to the helpful worker, “Do you have a room I use for a private holofeed in, uh-” she blanked the designation, having forgotten to ask for it in her confusion.

     “It’s Relay, and yes, uh, follow this way,” the mech offered, not offended at all with the lapse in manners. He led her to a room that had a small conference table and a holovid set up along one wall, with an energon dispenser in the corner that had a few datapads laying around.

     “If you need anything, let us know.” He offered, leaving Elita alone in the room. She took some more deep vents, trying to get her head in order before contacting Longarm. Pausing for a moment, she sent a request to chat, which was immediately granted.

     “Elita Prime!” Longarm greeted in a salute, polite and cautious as always. “Do you have any more information on what happened with the Decepticons? Is it true that Ultra Magnus is missing?” Elita nodded, shaking slightly.

     “Looking at the list, the only Primes who weren’t captured are you and me. I think Ultra Magnus got taken by the Decepticreeps, and we only have some Academy bots and the retired forces to form any sort of defense force.” Now that the shock was wearing off, she could feel herself becoming angrier and angrier, wanting to do something to prevent the looming threat from falling.

     “It’s not much, but it is a start. I can access the Cybertron Intel Database and contact any retired Autobots to see if they’ll come help, and I strongly suggest you begin to contact the Academy bots left in charge and use them to help the Enforcers keep order around Cybertron.” Longarm tapped a few of the console screens on his side of the vidfeed, a puzzled look crossing his face.

     “Elita Prime, it seems you’re the highest-ranking Autobot left on Cybertron. That makes you acting Magnus until we can secure the safe return of the missing Autobots.” She froze at the words, the jolt it gave her feeling like a spark attack as her vents shallowed, optics dilating as she shook.

     “M-magnus? Me? No, no, I can’t. I can’t.” Her trembling increased, the stress of the situation escalating. “Longarm, is there anyone else? What can I do?! I’m nowhere near the level of Magnus!”

     Before her processor could spiral into despair, there was the sound of yelling in the hallway, muffled shouting from Relay as a white and red mech strolled in the conference room.

     The first things Elita notices were, a cracked chevron, grizzled features, and the marks of a medic, telling her she was dealing with a doctor who was probably older than the Great War. He seemed quite gruff, but as he took in Elita’s shaking posture and obvious signs of distress, he seemed to soften the slightest bit. “Kid, you’re gonna have to vent or you’ll overheat. Deep vents, atta ‘bot.” He offered, walking closer to her.

     Elita followed the instructions, trying to get her spark to calm down and stop the massive lump it was forming in her chest plates. After a time she could vent again, noting that Longarm was still waiting on the holovid and the medic was giving her a curious look.

     “Sorry, sorry, I’m cool now, I’m cool.” She put up a finger to request another second to get her processor together, and heaved a long sigh. “So, who are you exactly, Doc bot?”

     Seeing that his patient was alright, the medic took on his gruff exterior again. “The name’s Ratchet, and I’m wondering what the Pit is going on. Half of Iacon’s panicking to the other half that they saw Decepticon warships, and now Cybertron’s command ’s missing.” He noted Longarm on the other side of the screen and nodded to him in greeting. “You’re the head of Cybertron Intelligence, aren’t you?”

     “Ah, yes, yes I am. My designation is Longarm Prime.” The bot looked a little uncomfortable at the questioning, optics shifting between Elita and Ratchet as if he didn’t know who to keep an eye on.

     “Well if you’ve got so much intelligence, you know that Cybertron’s going to send itself to the pit without someone keeping the city-states in order. And from what I just heard, Elita here is the Magnus until Ultra Magnus can be rescued. So, in my humble medical opinion, you’re gonna need to send a planetwide broadcast, and do it sooner rather than later if you want this place in one piece.”

     Elita had been watching the situation as she starved off the panic at the thought of being Magnus. The casual mention of Cybertron’s destruction snapped her back to the present and out of the hopeless anger that was still growing in her processor. “Wait, you’re telling me that I have to keep all of Cybertron together in one speech, when we literally don’t know if our leaders are even still online?! Do you have slag for a processor?” Who did this medic think he was, acting like it was that simple to keep a planet running! Especially with the Decepticons so close!

     “Well when you put it that way you make it sound like a bad thing!” Ratchet glowered at her, and she matched him easily, the grouchy medic as good a target as any to take the stress out on.

     She turned away when it stopped working, throwing her hands in the air and addressing Longarm, who’d been watching the exchange with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. “Alright, so I have to make a speech to keep Cybertron from panicking. But then what?! I only know how to lead small teams! And in case neither of you noticed, I’m panicking here too!”

     “Well maybe you’ll just have to start there, Academy Bot, and figure out the rest along the way.” Ratchet scoffed, dragging up a chair to sit in.

     “Fine then. Longarm, do you have any suggestions on how to go about this?” She shot a pleading look to the fellow Prime, hoping for any lifeline to help handle the demented situation.

     “From records, I’d suggest you mention the civilian-leaders are still there, to help prevent panic. It would be quite a problem for Cybertron if every citizen assumed complete anarchy.” Longarm seemed to be stressed as well with the thought of chaos on Cybertron, as his forehelm biolight flared and his liplates thinned. “Other than that, you’ll need to ask the Academy and Boot Camps for any mecha as close to graduation who could advance with minimal guidance and help the others prepare for any attacks.”

     “Alright. Alright. I can do this, I can do this.” Taking a deep breath, she picked up an empty datapad left on the conference table and quickly typed out notes, trying to think of the old speeches Optimus would quote from his history holovids. The thought of him made her freeze, Anger giving her strength to press on with typing. Stopping now wouldn’t save Optimus, Sentinel, or Cybertron.

     “I have a something here, and since we’re at a telecommunication center, I can probably get an emergency broadcast set up. Ratchet, could you look this over? Longarm, I’m gonna have to cut this feed off, but please get to the Academy Barracks as soon as possible. I’ll meet you at the main auditorium when this is over.” Ending the video, her audials picked up the ending of a complaint from Ratchet about not being a school teacher.

     It was easy to find Relay again, the communications mech looked terrified every time Elita spoke with him. ‘I’m probably looking the same way,’ she thought bitterly as her processor kept mentioning the Cons held the two bots dearest to her. She shook her head at the thoughts. ‘I need to help Sentinel and Optimus, and this is how I can.’

     “Relay, do you think an emergency broadcast can be set up across Cybertron? I was told this needed to be addressed before Cybertron completely panics.” She felt slightly more focused now that she had a task, it actually felt like she was doing something to help her friends.

     Going back to the small meeting room, Ratchet was still sitting, giving a last cursory glance to the speech before handing it back. “It’s good kid. Sounds a bit too optimistic, but good enough for now.”

     Elita glanced over it, the only things changed were a few spelling errors and some glyphs swapped for emphasis or clarity. Reading it once again closely, she took a deep vent as Relay coded the door open. “Sir, we’re ready for the announcement.”

     Trailing behind Relay, she steeled the emotional programs running wild with a reminder of Optimus and Sentinel’s last comm chat, the utter fear she felt from them. Their destination turned out to be a small, dark room with a table illuminated by lights with the Autobot Crest embossed in the wall. In the gloom were some cameraformers and staff setting up equipment.

     Seating herself stiffly at the desk, Elita tried to settle her roiling tanks as fear and anger clashed, attempting to stutter her vocoder. Keeping her attention on Relay, the mech gave her a count from 3 as the camera’s began to broadcast. Taking a steadying vent, she began to speak, glancing at her datapad when her processor felt her words were going to fail.

     “My fellow Autobots, I fear that this day a dark shadow has befallen Cybertron. Today the Decepticons have kidnapped the leaders of Cybertron, including our Magnus. At any moment another tragedy could befall us.

     “But I know in my spark, as all of you know, that as Autobots we will not be cowed so easily. Civilian leaders of Cybertron, I beseech you to help your cities in our time of need. Fellow Autobots, including those of you who are still in training, now more than ever we need you to do what is right and defend our home.

     “To anybot who is within a decacyle of graduation, or those with specialized skills, please come to the Iacon Autobot Academy. To any veterans willing to take up service again, now more than ever your skills and expertise are required.

     “While this may seem our darkest hour, we must not lose hope. We must not cower before the Decepticons. Now more than ever we must stand strong and protect our home. Until all are one!” With a servo-digit up from Relay, the broadcast was over and Elita let out a sigh. She stood up shakily, walking out the door only to find her faceplate smacking into heavy armor.

     “You did well with that. I thought you were going to purge your tanks.” Ratchet offered, putting a steadying servo on her shoulder.

     “I know, but now what?” She questioned, steadying her pedes and quelling the shaking in her knee struts.

     “Now, we need to form a plan.”

\----

     “Lord Megatron, the plan was successful and the new leadership appears to be extremely weak. It is my hope that I may be the first to welcome you upon your triumphant return to Cybertron.” Deep in the tunnels under Iacon a cold voice spoke into a holoscreen, dim lights from the transportable holovid doing little to illuminate the damp walls.

     “Excellent work, Shockwave. I do hope this Autobot isn’t foolish enough to continue to resist us for too long, it’s such a drain on resources to keep so many in stasis.” A dark chuckle rang from the speakers, Megatron looking pleased with how easy this takeover could be. After millions of years, victory would finally be his.

     Cybertron would fall. And out of the ashes, the Decepticons would rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make note, From now on I'll attempt to update this story every Sunday, and can guarantee you readers regular updates for the next 3-4 weeks. Until next time, have a nice week!


	3. A Peculiar Meeting

     The next solar cycle proved to be a busy one for Elita after a long night with little recharge. As she nursed a cube of energon and stared tiredly at the crowd, taking note of who was there. A group of veterans, soldiers who had remained on base, Autobots who hadn’t graduated yet, and some civilians with needed skills who felt they could help the defense.

     It had taken a few speeches and some interviews with the veterans, but after a long cycle she was able to get small militia groups going to each of the cities to help maintain an Autobot presence. The offworld colonies were still running as they usual, and Ratchet had picked a few bots to remain under Elita’s command based off prior records.

      A green brute with a knack for space bridges, a master at Circuit-su, a yellow bot who seemed like an eternal optimist, and, “the only two flying Autobots in existence,” a pair of twins with some special abilities in their frames. Longarm stated in no uncertain terms that he would be with her group, as they were the only Primes left on Cybertron and she needed his intel to succeed at keeping the planet in order,

      “Well, I think I had introduced myself during the speeches, so uh- I guess I’ll be your Prime for now?” She offered, rubbing the back of helm. She’d lead bots at the bootcamp with Sentinel and Optimus, but leading a team to defend Cybertron was a whole ‘nother piece of slag, and one that felt overwhelming.

     “Wait, aren’t you the Acting Magnus?” The yellow bot spoke up. “Why do you keep calling yourself a Prime then?” The question seemed harmless as the group walked through a courtyard to a more private building, intending to get some rest and make plans on how to defend the spacebridge network. It turned out Bulkhead was a lot smarter than he let on when it came to bridges, pointing out that anyone who held the bridges, held the key to both Cybertron and their colonies.

      Elita looked uncomfortable with the question, shifting her weight from pede-to-pede as she looked anywhere but her fellow bots. “I’m not acting Magnus unless Ultra Magnus offlines, and I just know he’s still out there. It’s not in my coding to be a Magnus.”

      They reached one of the heavier-looking, utilitarian doors as her explanation ended and waited for them to open, when one of the twins, Jetstorm, looked up with a worried look on his face. “Uh, what iz zat, brozer?”

     Elita grabbed one of her weapons at ready as a blue streak seemed to be crashing out of the sky, slamming into a building and running down the side as a mech tumbled across the courtyard and skidded on his face, landing in a graceless heap on the floor with all his limbs akimbo.

     Longarm looked surprised as the mech stood up and attempted to vent, biolight flaring deep red as his processor seemed to stall. “Agent Blurr?”

     The mech stood up, standing at parade rest and ignoring that half his faceplate’s paint had been skidded off, vents struggling and engine producing an unhealthy whine. “Longarm Prime, Sir! While attending to some duties at the main headquarters in Iacon and listening to the soundclip of Megatron’s threats against Cybertron I was picked up during the attack and blacked out. Upon waking up I found myself aboard the Decepticon warship Nemesis, and had to find a way to escape and make my way back. While on the warship I found out some important information about what Megatron is planning to do with the bots.” He began to look increasingly unsteady, optics flickering even as he kept talking at near lightspeed. “It appears that Megatron is going to use the captured Autobot command to try and force Cybertron to agree to his demands, using our own leaders as the bargaining chips, which seems to be utterly despicable and a dangerous tactic. Furthermore-” 

     He didn’t have a chance to finish his long-winded rant, eyes flashing out and engine turning over as he collapsed to the ground. Ratchet sprang into action to check him over and set up an energon drip with a cube he pulled from his subspace. Longarm looked worried, biolight flaring as he took in how badly injured the agent seemed.

     “Well don’t just stand there,” Ratchet groused as he glared from his kneeling position next to Blurr. “I’m gonna transform, you’re going to put him in the back. Bumblebee, you’re going to need to sit in the back for me and make sure his IV is still flowing. He’s not going to wake up without a lot of repairs.” The telltale noise of transformation, and Ratchet was in his alt mode, bay doors opening to allow his patient in. 

     Elita recovered from her shock enough to help get Blurr into Ratchet’s alt, making sure Bumblebee set the drip-cube up and letting Ratchet know he was good to go to the main base hospital. As the ambulance sped off, she looked back at the rest of the group, the yellow bot going to stand next to his friend. Her processor was racing to understand what happened. “Did anyone catch anything he said?”

     Longarm cleared his vents, looking at the group to make sure they were in the present before talking. “I think I can be of help, I’ve worked with Agent Blurr closely enough to understand his speech patterns. However, I believe we should go somewhere a little more private..” He indicated the open door that had been forgotten in the excitement, and Elita understood. 

     “Well then, let’s get going! Ratchet’s a capable medic, I’m sure Blurr will be fine.” Elita plastered on a grin that looked more like a terrified grimace than anything else, entering the building to lead the small group into a conference room that was much larger than the one she’d spoken with Longarm in the previous solar cycle.

     Sitting down, most mechs fit comfortably at the tables, but Bulkhead’s chair gave him a warning creak telling the large green mech to stand. Tapping on the holotable a few times, Elita pulled up a map of the spacebridges Longarm had supplied along with a map of Cybertron. “Bulkhead, what can you tell us about the spacebridge network so far? There have been no reports of Decepticon activity near the bridges yet, but they’re not well-guarded.” 

     Bulkhead regarded the map thoughtfully, tapping a claw at one of the larger dots marking the main spacebridge nexus. “Well, that bridge is the most important, considering if the ‘Cons get that one they have a clear shot to Cybertron. But if they get any of the other ones they can overwhelm us just by sending all their forces through. I’d say we’ll have to sabotage these three,” he pointed out three of the larger, glowing dots on the map, “by removing their transwarp drives, we should be able to make the bridges useless.”

     “That’s all well and good, Bulkhead,” Bumblebee scoffed, an incredulous look on his face, “But what will we do without the spacebridges?”

     Elita glanced around the room, mulling over the minibot’s point as an old game strategy she used to pull with Optimus on Sentinel formed in her head. “Wait a minute. The Decepticons are focused on Cybertron itself. They could easily grab the colonies later, especially if they control here. So if we dismantle the spacebridges, we’ll have all of their focus only on Cybertron. It would prevent us from getting spread too thin, and also help us figure out where we need to defend.”

     She felt a little self-conscious at the pressing silence in the room, especially after naming a strategy she’d only used with Optimus and Sentinel during training. Glancing around at the other’s faces, most of them looked a little shocked at the tactic. Longarm was regarding her curiously, probably attempting to gauge how viable the strategy was. 

     Just as Elita felt like telling them all to forget it, Prowl hummed. “Hmm, that is an interesting tactic, Elita. But how will you make sure Cybertron has the resources it needs, especially if there’s a long siege, with minimal troops and energon shortages?” 

     The question was a good one, and the silence went from awkward to contemplative as the small group tried to wrestle with the information. Bulkhead raised his hand after a moment of thought, a pensive look on his face. “I think the energon problem could actually be fixed by turning up the output on the farms.”

     Bumblebee was the first to react to what Bulkheadsuggested. “Uh, you do realize that those farms have been maximum output for years, and we’re still constantly running out, right?”

     The only response Bulkhead gave was a confused look. “The farms never ran at full capacity, not since I’ve been sparked. We got told it was ‘cause it would put too much strain on the processing plants. I know that there won’t be too much damage if we’re only needing about a stellar cycle of higher output.”

     There was a shocked silence in the room. They’d all been told that there hadn’t been enough to go around for everyone due to energon shortages, and yet there was a chance there could actually be enough energon to give them a fighting chance. Elita took a deep breath.

     “Okay, that’s a good idea. Bulkhead, I’m going to need you to assign someone to get on with that, as we need you at the spacebridges. Bumblebee, Prowl, you’re going to be working with him, and make sure you listen to what he says.” The jettwins, who’d been content with just chittering between themselves and over their bond while watching the situation unfold, noted that the tone of the conversation was changing.

     “Miss Elita, and what with us? What we can do to help?” Jetfire and Jetstorm offered, entering the conversation in unison with their brother. 

     “I’ll be needing you two to keep an eye on the cities around Cybertron, since you’re the fastest we’ve got. I don’t know exactly what to do with you guys yet though, so I’m going to need you to stick near Fortress Maximus until something happens.” The jettwins seemed pleased with the response, nodding in sync and moving back to their own bond-talk.

     Elita turned to Longarm, who was leaning on the table with steepled fingers and watching her expectantly. His expression wasn’t readable. and she hid her nervousness by thinking up the next part of her plan. “Longarm, is Blurr considered a good agent under you?” she coughed awkwardly, not even knowing when the blue mech would be making it out of the hospital and already trying to use him in the war.

     Longarm considered her words, a small furrowing of his optics as he seemed to be choosing his answer carefully. “He’s a good agent. He does have some, quirks, due to his frame modifications, but he does know how to turn any of his faults to his advantage. He will probably take a while for you to get used to, but he is a valuable agent and good asset for your interim government.” 

     “Well we’ll need all the agents we can get Longarm. I’m going to have you, Ratchet, the Jettwins, and Blurr here with me. You guys seem like the best pick right now until we can rescue the others.” Elita felt a processor-ache coming on with the Gordian-knot of a mess she was trying to unravel, but sometime else, deeper than her coding, something deep in her spark, was pushing her to see this through.

     “Well, time to make sure we can keep Cybertron running.” She sighed, shifting in her chair. “Now, what was it Agent Blurr tried to tell us? I think none of us,” she sent a look around the group for confirmation, “could catch anything that mech said.” 

     Longarm cleared his throat, optics unfocusing as he recalled the memory file, and he easily formed an answer. “Agent Blurr was trying to warn us that the Autobot’s leaders are still online. In bad news, Megatron is planning to use them as a bargaining tool to gain control of Cybertron. After that he lost consciousness, so anything he was attempting to tell you will have to be asked of him when he wakes up.”

     Prowl looked at Longarm incredulously, but Bumblebee was the first to speak. “You actually caught all that?” 

     A perplexed look crossed Longarm’s faceplates. “As I said before, Agent Blurr does take a while to get used to but he is a good bot.” As he finished his defense of his fellow Agent, Ratchet strolled in the room, wiping his servos with a mesh rag that was stained slightly pink.

     “He’s a tough bot, I’ll give him that much.” The medic stated in greeting as he nearly fell into a chair. “I left the main surgery to First Aid, Primus knows he knows what he’s doing.”

     “Excuse me, what’s his condition?” Longarm asked, seeming as if he had a third optic from how worriedly he was looking at the medic. 

     “Well, he’s going to live, that I can guarantee. He completely shattered his leg struts, ruined his vents, cracked his tires, nearly starved himself into stasis lock, all types of dents, it’s nearly a miracle he’s still online.” The look on Ratchet’s face was the most damning evidence, because even the field-toughened medic seemed shocked Blurr could still be functioning.

     “Alright, so he’s not going to be on our team for now.” Elita muttered. ‘How many Decepticons are even out there?’ Was a constant thought running her mind. Optimus would have known how to strategize. Sentinel would have known how to lead.

     ‘But Optimus and Sentinel aren’t here right now.’ Pushing her thoughts out, she focused back on what was needed to be said.

     She took a vent. “Alright, so we don’t have Blurr. Bulkhead, how soon can you begin sabotaging the bridges?” 

      “Pretty soon, if Bumblebee and Prowl are willing to help me. I’d just have to get some tools.” The green mech responded.

      “I’m alright with helping if you’re willing to teach me.” Prowl agreed.

      “Yeah Boss Bot, I mean, it’s not the most glamorous thing but it’s something!” Bumblebee said. “Although if there is some glamor-”

      “The glamor is not having Cybertron fall into the Decepticon’s hands.” Elita cut in before he could go off on a tangent. That was the last thing she needed. “Longarm, do you know anything about running a government?”

      “I believe I know a little,” the intel bot replied. “I think we can get started on that oncewe establish a private communications channel.”

      “Everybody else, you guys can go. Do you all have my comm frequency?” The jettwins did not, and after sharing her information with them they ran out to go back to the labs/barracks they called home.

      Prowl seemed to sense that Elita, Longarm, and Ratchet needed to have some privacy, and helped usher Bulkhead and Bumblee out. The only mechs left were the Acting Magnus of Cybertron, the Head of Cybertronian Intelligence, and one Very Old Veteran.

      “Well, it won’t get done without us? Will it.” Elita tried to crack a joke, but the EM fields just felt awkward around her. “Alright, let’s just get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and have a wonderful day wherever you are!


	4. A Chance Encounter

“Lord Megatron, it appears Longarm has been appointed to a very trusted position within Elita-One’s unit. She suspects nothing, and has been near-blindly trusting as long as there is a logical explanation attached. With your permission, may the operation to sabotage internal relations between the city-states begin? This will allow for a much easier conquest for you, Sir.” The drip drip drip of the dark tunnels could not hide the teek of satisfaction in the mech’s frame as Shockwave addressed his commander.

“There is no need for that yet. I’d like to see just how easily the little Autobot will give up.” The vidscreen Shockwave was using told him that Megatron was quite pleased with how simply his plan was going to unfold. It left a small niggling in the back of his processor, logic dictating that playing with an opponent would only prove a waste of precious time and resources. The Autobots were not turbomice, and they were not cybercats. Playing with them would only allow their enemies a chance to stop their plans.

“Lord Megatron, would it would not prove the wisest course of action to immediately finish off the Autobots?” This earned him an even glare from his leader, but something told him to press. “The records have shown that if given time, they will formulate a plan and-”

“Frankly, Shockwave, the Autobots are pathetic and weak.” Megatron interjected, his level scowl deepening. “And secondly, if I wanted tactical advisory, I would speak with General Strika. Now, continue making sure the Autobots do not suspect you, and gather more information on their pathetic leader.” With that the comm was abruptly cut off, and Shockwave was left in a dark tunnel with a blank holovid screen and something pressing at the edges of his processor, that he couldn’t quite name.

\----

“Thanks for the help, and we’ll keep you updated on finding the missing as we get the info.” Flicking off the comm call, Elita stretched in her seat, popping her spinal strut out of the position it had settled into during the joors of discussion with different leaders appointed for the cities. Things were running better than she’d expected, as the increase in energon proved helpful to preventing a major food crisis. The Enforcers were helping keep opportunistic mecha from committing too much extra crime, and the busy work in helping get Cybertron under control and sort out the intelligence Longarm sent her way kept her worries at bay.

It was when she wasn’t working that posed problems for Eltia. The worries for Optimus and Sentinel came to forefront, what-if’s filling her processor with scenarios of them coming home grey with death, being tortured by the Decepticons, or never knowing exactly what happened to them. Before she could work herself up into a panic of daydreaming Longarm walked in, and she shoved the thoughts away to stand up and greet him.

“Longarm, do you have any new info regarding the where everybody is?” She tried to keep the tired desperation that seemed to be sinking into her struts from leaking out in her words as the imaginations weighed on her mind.

His expression softened a little from its schooled professionalism, giving her a look that contained the slightest hints of pity. “I actually do have good news. Ratchet has cleared Blurr to be released from the hospital, if he makes sure to rest and recuperate for the next few orns. I believe we’ll be able to garner more information about the Decepticon’s plans from him now.”

“That’s good, that’s really great. Really, really great. He’s at Central Hospital, right? Well, what are we waiting for!?” She resisted the urge to speed out of Fortress Maximus and shake the information from the blue agent. Composing herself, she gestured to the door. “Lead the way?”

Walking with Longarm to the hospital felt quite slow, and was making her want to tap her fingers in impatience, but his alt mode wasn’t the fastest and traffic was heavy. Walking was the quickest way, but it felt so slow.

The nurse at the front desk droned them the room number as if she was an unsparked mecha, and Elita had to resist the urge to burst in and shake the agent for information. He was sitting up in the berth, fingers moving like lightning over a color-cube while the blankets shook from his twitching legs. Longarm hadn’t been joking when he stated the Agent was restless.

Blurr easily shifted his attentions from the cube to his visitors, albeit slowly for him due to the large amount of painkillers he was on. “Ah! Longarm Prime, Elita-One, it’s good to see you sirs! I was wondering when I could get out of here and the doctor told me he only had to give me another check up and I’ll probably be fit for duty again and I wrote a report on what I could remember. Most of the files got corrupted and-” As he talked Longarm stuck out a hand was given the now-completed cube to fiddle with.

“It’s alright Agent Blurr,” Longarm politely interjected as he passed back the now-messy cube. Blurr set to work setting the colors right, even with most of his focus on his visitors. “Could you repeat to us what you remember from being captured by the Decepticons?” Elita noted how rude the interruption seemed, but the two seemed to have a system and Blurr took the change of subject in stride.

“About that sir, after I began to fight my way out of the ship my fuel levels dropped so low I can’t remember much past the initial fight. It’s mostly impressions, all other files got corrupted. Every time I make an attempt to retrieve them the coding just seems to get worse and worse.” Blurr had a slight frown on his face as he seemed to be willing his processor to properly call on the files, wincing a little at the ache it brought.

“It’s alright Blurr. Either you’ll remember or you won’t. We’re just glad you’re alright.” Longarm’s field pressed easily against the field agent’s with a mixture of calm and support, and Blurr seemed to relax the quivering tension in his frame by a small fraction. In a short time the medic came in, reviewing Blurr’s repairs and taking him off the drips with the ease that spoke of vorns of practice, and declared he was fit to leave, albeit with a warning.

“Just take it easy, I know you racer-frames love to move but you’ll just wind up back here.” With that the doctor was off to her next duties, leaving the bots alone in the room. Blurr subspaced his toy and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Getting up turned out to be a bit of a challenge as Blurr’s struts attempted to right themselves and settle, leaving him wobbly on his pedes and gripping hospital-berth to remain upright. “Okyaokayokay just give me a moment I think I’ve got thisannnd-” Taking a stumbling step forward, Blurr seemed to be getting his balance back. “Alright, I’ve got this, let’s get out of here because I’m getting veryvery claustrophobic and I really need to get running again.”

Longarm just smiled good-naturedly, standing near incase Blurr lost his balance. “Remember Blurr, you have to walk before you can run.” He just earned a very half-hearted glare from the agent before his focus shifted back to moving his legs.

Elita looking a little confused as all her audials had picked up was a stream of noise. Blurr would be taking a lot of work to get used to. She led them out of the room, the discharge papers ready for a signature and leaving the hospital behind.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard. Agent Blurr, when you’re recovered, we’re going to need you to help us-” 

“E-Excuse me, Elita-One Sir, I-I don’t think it’d be wise to be giving any mission de-details in public. You never know who could be li-listening.” Blurr winced, stumbling his words as he attempted to keep his timing glitch suppressed enough to be understood by his commander. Longarm gave the agent a supportive look, but before a response could smoorh rhe interaction there was the sound of thrusters from above.

“Well well well, you're not as stupid as I thought mech! If it isn’t Cybertron’s little leader!” A loud cackle had the small group of Autobots looking up in surprise, to see the smug face of a flier above them. “Too bad you won’t be leader for long! It’ll be my honor to be Lord Starscream of Cybertron, and my first act is to blast you to bits!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all very much for reading! Sorry for the short update, sometimes the plot just needs to be given a break to prepare for the juicy parts! If you have any questions, or would just like to chat, please hit me up on my Tumblr, [withdrawnwitch](withdrawnwitch.tumblr.com). I'll answer questions, chitter-chatter, and maybe posts some hints of what's to come. Have a wonderful day! ::::D


	5. A Hazardous Struggle

“What the slag!” Elita eloquently spit out, calling on her training as the large Decepticon fired up a gun mounted on his arm. Jumping to the side, a huge crater was left in the sidewalk, Longarm and Blurr lying prone nearby after being caught off guard.

Blurr recovered first, wobbly standing and attempting to clear his processor and analyze the situation. HUD warnings flashed before his eyes, telling him some of his plating wasn’t secure enough to fight yet, but he shut them down. Starscream was preparing another shot for Elita, and she still seemed to be onlining battle protocols.

Another shot rang out as Elita flinched with the laser-fire. Her vents stalled as a force knocked her bodily to the side, leaving a crater in the street. Blurr set her down, looking up at the jet as he scanned the street before turning to Elita. “Sir, I need you to evacuate the civilians. Longarm and I,” A quick assessment of the Intelligence Officer, “I’ll handle the Decepticon. There might be more coming and we need to make sure that there are no civilian casualties caught in the crossfire. And if you can, please please contact the local Enforcers in case this fight gets out of control. We need all the firepower we can get”

Blurr took off again, and with her battle protocols initialized Elita caught most of what he needed her to understand. A cursory glance of the street showed civilians fleeing in terror, either running towards buildings to hide inside or just fleeing down the street in altmode. It luckily wasn’t a very crowded area of Iacon, leaving Elita urging some of the more startled citizens to leave.

Longarm took a much slower time to get his bearings, his head suffering a nasty hit from the blast. His “Biolight” flared as warnings flashed across his optic, his audials ringing as he resisted the urge to purge his tanks. Everything hurt from taking the brunt of it, and he couldn’t seem to balance his equilibrium enough to rise from where he’d taken a knee.

“Come on! Yes, that’s a Decepticon! But now is not the time!” Elita urged a gawking newsbot, grabbing a servo to goad him into moving away from the laser-fire now peppering the street as Blurr streaked around the jet. Starscream seemed to be having a hard time pinpointing the racer, and Longarm was standing quite unsteadily, attempting to focus his optics on the Decepticon flying overhead without much luck.

‘Frag, that was close.’ Sped through Blurr’s head as he felt a laser vaporize the pavement behind his pedes. Taking stock, he noted Longarm seemed out of it, but was still conscious enough that his half-baked plan stood a chance.

Longarm winced as his comm crackled to life, much too loud inside his head. “Longarm Prime Sir, I think we need to get to the Decepticon’s level to improve our chances of winning this fight. Are you able to grab the light pole nearby?” 

The only response from the Head of Cybertronian Intelligence was reaching out to follow Blurr’s instructions, attempting to focus his arm on grabbing the middle of three poles. It took precious moments for his hand to grasp the pole, and he seemed nowhere near conscious enough to help Blurr with what he was going to pull off.

“Sir, this is going to hurt and I apologize in advance if this aggravates your condition but this is the only thing I can think of to help us out of this fight right now.” Banking to dodge another volley of Null Rays, Blurr turned his back on the flyer and ran for the middle of Longarm’s outstretched arm.

Running into it, he felt the plating stretch and give, a few more nanoklicks before he turned around as where Starscream was aiming to fire. Longarm seemed to understand what Blurr was about to do, tightening up the plating and pushing him forward as he began to sprint. At the last second the plating behind Blurr pulled taught even faster than he was running, sending him careening through the air.

Right into the confused face of a Decepticon Seeker.

Grabbing at any plating he could get ahold of, Blurr took the few seconds of frozen shock and began to pound a fist into Starscream’s face. He felt sensitive metal dent, tightening his grip on a pauldron as fingers scrabbled at his back. 

Blurr couldn’t suppress a cry of pain as the fingers found their mark on his head and pinched his sensitive helm crest, yanking painfully. Letting go of the armor he’d held, he found himself dangling in front of a very, very angry Seeker, glaring at him through cracked optics. 

“Nobody does that to the future leader of the Decepticons and gets away it!” The screech made every bot in the surrounding vicinity wince, Longarm clamping his hands over his audials to try and stop the scratching pain it left in his processor.

Taking the first option that popped into his head, Blurr gathered all the oral solvents in his mouth and spit them into a damaged optic. Starscream lived up to his name with the howl he gave, flailing his arms as Blurr was ragdolled around. 

Reaching out, he grabbed hold of a helm vent and squeezed, lessening the pressure on his crest until Blurr found himself kicking out of the grip and holding onto Starscream’s nape armor. His pede was just touching the top of a wing, and the next jostle from the jet’s erratic movements found his pede shoved in the gap where wing met sensor housing.

‘Oh, this is gonna hurt.’ Blurr grit his dentae and revved his tires, jamming iit into the crack just as he hit the upper reaches of his speed. His knee joint threatened to crumple from the forces he use to keep his leg straight, but the sudden energon-curdling scream of a Seeker more than made up for it. 

Starscream shot up into the air as if Unicron himself was chasing him, wings twitching to dislodge Blurr. Aiming a few kicks into the sensor-housing, Blurr felt his grip slip as he plummeted back to the streets of Cybertron, wing rushing past his audials and tire aching from where he’d worn the rubber.

He braced for impact as Cybertron rushed up to meet him, attempting to land on the spot that would cushion his more sensitive internal organs. Needless to say, it was surprising when a gentle pressure wrapped around his waist and his fall began to slow.

Longarm hadn’t been able to focus on the fight, Blurr moving too quickly for his processor or optics to keep up. Resetting his optics in an attempt to make out what was happening, he winced as the screech of pain from the Seeker echoed through the street. His optics attempted to focus on the blue shape being jerked about by the jets erratic movements, but it only made them hurt worse.

It took precious klicks for him to note that what fell off the jetformer was not, in fact, pieces of said jet, but his subordinate. 

Who was now plummeting towards Cybertron. 

Stretching out his arm as fast as he could, Longarm felt something wrench painfully as he wrapped a hand around Blurr’s waist, shifting the mass in his arm to reel the agent in. Blurr looked startled, surprised he hadn’t been dashed to pieces on the pavement.

When his pedes touched the ground Blurr looked much more relieved, stepping forward to check Longarm’s injuries as Elita tracked Starscream flying off and blending into the starry sky above. Longarm attempted to pull up the list of damages in his HUD, but the synapses gathering data were blocked off from both the new damage and the old mixing in his processor.

Turning off a shutdown alert, Longarm took a note he still had a servo wrapped around Blurr’s waist. Racking everything in his processor he didn’t have the energy to attempt moving it.

“Sir, are you alright? I think you need to see Ratchet, your helm’s a little dent and I think you have might have broken something during the blast, and as you know processor injuries are quite serious especially if you aren’t thinking coherently or your visual data feed it corrupted.” Blurr worriedly hovered his hands over Longarm’s head, the optic flaring red as it tracked his movements.

“I-i-i-” A quick reset to the vocalizer, “I think seeing Ratchet would be a good idea.” Blurr wrapped an arm under his shoulder as Elita ran over, supporting the other one.

“Hey, at least we’re close to the hospital!” She offered, attempting humor even though she looked shaken to her core. According to Intelligence, Decepticons, especially ones as high-ranking as Starscream, hadn’t attacked Cybertron proper in millenia. And with the missing leaders and gaps in intelligence, who knew where they were lurking or what they were planning.

Walking Longarm to the hospital wasn’t an easy task, especially as he almost crushed Blurr as he slipped offline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful week! Until next time!


	6. A Sharp Medic

The sound of machines was what greeted Shockwave’s aching processor when he awoke in the hospital. A quick check of his memory-banks, fuzzy as they were, told him he was in his Longarm persona and he needed to act like it.

Cycling on his optics, he winced and turned down the sensitivity at the sterile white lights of the hospital. The brightness seemed to be pulling up pain from every part of his helm, and he drew on his years of experience in espionage in an attempt not to vocalize how much it hurt.

“Oh, you’re up.” The medic chirped, far too grating even with his audial sensitivity nearly off. “You’re going to be in pain, you took a really nasty hit to your processors. How are your memory files? Nothing damaged?” Longarm wanted to reach out and strangle the medibot as a distraction, but that would be a highly illogical, unhelpful reaction.

“I-I think I’m okay,” he stuttered out. Only the memory files surrounding the fight had been corrupted, and he couldn’t remember what happened past an explosion. If Blurr and Elita had been there with him, then the first reaction should be to ask about them.

“Elita-Prime and Agent Blurr, Are they-” Before he could finish acting, the two Autobot agents walked in.

“Hey Longarm, glad to see you’re awake. Hello, First Aid.” Elita offered, smiling warmly. Shockwave schooled his faceplates into something more welcoming, easily hiding a grimace from the pounding feeling behind his optic. “Anything major besides getting knocked out?”

“No, I think I’ll be fine.” ‘If this pit-forsaken ache stops.’ He wasn’t a fan of processor injuries, and it wasn’t wearing off like helmaches normally did once he’d gotten his systems online.

“Well Ratchet’s ordered that since he can keep an eye on you, you’ll be able to go now!” First Aid offered as he finished puttering around the room to adjust little odds and ends. “I’ll let the front desk know to get your paperwork ready!” With a quick excuse the bubbly medic was gone, and Longarm slipped his legs over the side of the bed, easily finding his footing as his helmache turned near-blinding.

“Are you al-alright Sir?” Blurr questioned, vocalizer catching as he attempted talking at a normal speed. 

“I’ll be fine when my self-repair finishes. I just need to stabilize Agent Blurr.” He winced, walking towards the door. Elita palmed it open for him and made she he didn’t trip on the frame. Discharge was a relatively easy affair, with the doctor’s informing Longarm that he would have to check-in with Ratchet every orn and check himself into the hospital if his nanites weren’t fixing the damage.

“Well, I’m glad that wasn’t worse Longarm. So, do you think that was a one-off instance? ‘Cause I’m getting the feeling that won’t be the last con we see here.” Elita mulled, knowing the answer even without one supplied. That wasn’t going to be the last ‘Con they’d see on Cybertron. Not by a long shot.

“Considering who that was, I’m willing to bet you my paycheck that you’re right.” Longarm groused, Shockwave consulting his database of proper responses to see how most Autobots had reacted to the situation. Making somewhat pained jokes seemed common enough, and it seemed he’d taken the proper response judging the reactions.

The conversation flowed after that, even with the smaller responses he preferred to give as the pain made concentrating on the facade harder. Heading back into Fortress Maximus, Elita warned that everyone who’d been with them yesterday had been given a quick briefing on what had happened, but not the whole story.

“Hey! He is okay!” Jetfire called out as Longarm entered the room, faceplates schooled into a polite yet neutral expression as he greeted the other mechs. 

“Hey Longarm!” Bumblebee called, bounding over from where he’d been sitting with Bulkhead. “How’s the head injury?” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He put his servos up in placating gesture in an attempt to get a bit of space and stop the EM fields from meshing so much with his. Trying to process the input was only putting a strain on his injuries and glitching the corners of his optics.

Taking note of his discomfort, Ratchet plopped back heavily in his chair from where he’d been meaning to stand and let out a grunt. “Well, everybody’s here and I’m not getting any younger. Elita, care to skip the niceties and get down to business?”

Clearing her vents, she called on long-winded comms from Optimus to put together her debriefing. “Alright, well as you have all heard from the news, the Decepticon Seeker Starscream was in Iacon yesterorn. We are not sure of his exact motives, but it doesn’t seem to be boding well for us.” 

“But didn’t we do the kicking of skidplate? How is they still threat?” Jetstorm questioned, a look of confusion visible on the parts of his faceplate not hidden by a visor.

“Because that’s not the only ‘Con.” Ratchet groused, a frown of worry hidden under his gruff demeanor. “He was probably just scouting to test us for weak points.” 

“Well how do we prevent any more ‘Con’s from just falling out of the Sky, Doc-Bot? Even with the aerial defense we don’t have enough ‘Bots to man it!” Bumblebee cut in, earning a sharp look from Ratchet he attempted to return in equal measure.

“I know some bots, leave the tip-line to me. You three need to get ready to leave Cybertron for the spacebridge demolition.” Ratchet levelled them a look. “Bulkhead has been teaching you basic spacebridge technology, yes?”

Prowl and Bumblebee shot each other a look as Bulkhead looked alarmed. Ratchet’s hand twitched as his scowl grew deeper. “After this is over, you teach them immediately.” His glare seemed to be stripping the paint from their chassis as they quailed. Sighing, he turned back to the group and rubbed his eyes. 

“So we’re working on stopping the spacebridge network. Jetfire, Jetstorm, do you think Perceptor would leave you two under my watch so you can patrol the skies? I don’t have all that much confidence anybot’s doing their job at monitoring the orbital defense.” 

“We-”

“Can-”

“-Do that Ratchet Medic!” The twins spoke over one another and finished their sentence in stereo unison. “We just need Perceptor say yes!” Jetfire chimed.

“Alright then, Elita, I’m going to need to speak with you in about a Joor, and Longarm, meet me in the Medbay within 15 klicks.” His tone held no room for argument as he glanced around the room.

“Well, Elita, do you have anything else to add?” She gave a shake of the helm, there was nothing else to say.

“Alright, Bulkhead, let me know when you, Prowl, and Bumblebee are ready. I’ll see if we can get you through to the spacebridge nexus without too much trouble. I need it done within three orns, I’m not sure how long Megatron is planning to hold onto the command until he thinks they’re useless.” Elita instructed, chewing at her bottom lip plate. It hadn’t even been a groon since everyone was kidnapped and she felt like she was going to blow a circuit from the stress.

The jettwins, taking a cue, bounded out of the room cheerily with some hasty goodbyes fading as they bounded down the hallway. Bulkhead lead his small team out while already babbling a string of information on spacebridges. Noting that look Ratchet was giving Longarm, Elita made her leave and walked out to figure out what to busy herself with during the joor.

“Either you can walk with me or meet me there, but you will be in my medbay before this joor is up. Am I understood?” Ratchet’s voice was low and even, but his faceplate’s had changed from their usual grumpy expression to one that promised much more painful endings if his orders were not complied with. Something told Shockwave this medic was one whose punishments would be harsher than Megatron’s, and complying would mean a much easier time.

“Understood,” Longarm replied neutrally, standing from the chair to stretch his treads. “I think it would be best if we just went together.” Keeping “Longarm’s”, face one of schooled calm, he tracked the medic with his three optics as Ratchet rose stiffly.

“I am getting too old for those chairs,” he grumbled as he walked down to the Medbay. For all his complaining of sore joints and bad struts, he still moved with the easy confidence that he could rely on his pedes. They talked about neutral topics such as recent news, that honestly made Ratchet sound like an old busybody with not enough to occupy himself. Shockwave would have scoffed at the irrationality of him if it wouldn’t have broken character.

Until they reached the Medbay, and the medic was sure it was empty. Whipping around, the conversation’s mood plummeted as he affixed Longarm with a hard stare. Something in his processor supplied that Ratchet had been acting to get his guard down and prevent raising suspicions from any other bots in the building. And Shockwave had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Longarm, I checked over your scans after you came out of surgery, and there was some scarring there that wasn’t from the blast. I may seem like an out of practice busybody but I’ve seen enough processor injuries to have a pretty good idea of what happened there. Care to explain before I do?”

Shockwave almost felt surprised. Most of the few medics who had been into his head beforehand had been sparked after the Great War and had no idea what they were looking at. Those who stuck their helms where it wasn’t their business had been easily disposed of. He honestly hadn’t thought to account for how old the medic was, or how much experience ir granted him.

The only good options were to lie and make sure his cover wasn’t blown. If it was, he’d have to plug the leaks, which was never an easy task and left too many questions. “Do you mean the scarring?” He kept an expression of neutrality on, EM field betraying nothing and modified to show he was being told information he knew that no longer interested him.

“I haven’t seen scarring like that since the Great War, and I know you’re too young to have been around for that. So you tell me how you have mnemosurgery scars in your processor, when its been banned for decavorns?” Ratchet kept the icy look on his faceplates, daring Longarm to lie to him.

And that’s exactly what Shockwave needed to do. “It was a long time ago, and I had most of the damage fixed. There was a classified mission I was sent on when I had the rank of Minor, and it backfired. I was held captive for a while, and when I came back there had been a surgeon in my head. It’s been healing for a while now.” It was a large lie, but it did show up if someone cared to dig deep enough into his records and break the red tape surrounding most of his work in the Elite Guard.

Ratchet seemed to have been placated for the moment, softening back to his normal, gruff demeanor, but the accusing look in his optics was still there. “Well, you need to be careful to keep up on your recharge and fuel levels then. A processor injury on top of scarring doesn’t always end well, and your nanites need the energy to focus on your injures.” 

They regarded each other suspiciously, neither willing to voice their suspicions aloud, until Longarm shuffled awkwardly. 

“Well, if there’s nothing else, I have to finish some paperwork. Have a good day.” Walking out of the Medbay before Ratchet could respond, Shockwave glanced around the hall suspiciously. ‘If he knows, who else does?’ It wasn’t paranoia if helped prevent jeopardizing his mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all those who read, commented, and kudoed! I appericiate every single one of them, and thank you for reading! Wow, it's been a whole month of updates already! It's silly how time flies. Thank you!


	7. A Special Concoction

Ratchet stood at a corner of the Medbay, angrily cleaning some equipment that one of the junior medics hadn’t put away right. Honestly, they were going to get a rust outbreak if they put the clean tools so close to the solvents!

A knock on the doorframe showed Elita standing in the doorway, EM teeking she felt a little out-of-place and nervous. “Come on in, you know it’s open,” Ratchet called, cleaning a paint flake from a speculum that someone hadn’t been careful abou handling.

Standing in the center of the room, Elita looked around the bay. There were gurneys set up for general patients, privacy curtains pulled back, and a heavy-looking door with frosted windows and a plaque with the glyphs, “CR Room,” engraved in red.

“Well, I didn’t invite you here for a friendly drink of energon.” He grumbled, placing away the equipment and turning to face her. “You’ve been under pressure, and I teek the stress from here. Let it out before it gives you a spark attack, I don’t want to perform anymore surgeries for you bots.” 

Elita took a heavy vent, the same weak feeling in her struts from the first time the news hit returning. She’d been attempting to keep busy and stay productive, take her mind off things, but it must have been showing more than she thought. The mention of the stress just seemed to be the magic words that brought all the feelings she’d buried to the forefront of her mind.

“I’m worried Ratchet, I’m really worried. Everyone keeps calling me Magnus and telling me I have to complete all of his duties, and I don’t even know the half of them. I don’t know where Optimus, Sentinel, or any of the rest of them are, or even if they’re online or not! I don’t know where to start and now I have to worry about a full blown invasion on top of that, and now everyone acts like I’m going to abuse my rank and throw them in the Stockades or something!” She was venting heavily, attempting not to burst into tears with the optical fluid welling up.

“You have an idea of what’s going on! Longarm can at least keep himself together!” She didn’t notice Ratchet’s wince, too caught up in her own feelings. “Bulkhead and his group have tasks, and the twins can make themselves useful! You’re better at leading than I am, and I’m supposed to keep this entire planet together!” After her rant, even Unicron himself couldn’t hold back the tears from stress and worry.

Ratchet’s posture shifted to something that looked like a cross between defensive and comforting as he moved closer to the now-sobbing Acting Magnus, giving an stiff pat on the back to try and calm her down. Her vents hitched and forcefully closed as she attempted to get her venting under control, and Ratchet attempted to provide some comfort.

“You’ve been doing fine so far, Elita. Cybertron’s still running, and actually a lot smoother than it has been for a while. I’ve been around a lot longer than you have, kid, so it’s just practice to lead. You’ve got spark for this, seeing that you haven’t failed yet, you just need to find it in yourself to use it.” He pulled his hands away as she slowly hiccuped back under control, passing a disposable rag so she could wipe off the optical fluid staining her face.

“Thanks Ratchet, I needed that.” 

“No problem kid. Cybertron needs you to look after it, but you need to look after yourself first. I know a couple of mech’s when you need to let it out, because I don’t want to see you in my Medbay. Am I clear?”

“Yeah Ratch’, thanks.” Leaving the room, Elita felt much clearer than she had in the orns since the entire mess had started.

\----

Flying was the greatest feeling for the jettwins. They could do what other Autobots could not, and the feeling of freedom with Cybertron streaking below was like no other feeling.

Until someone mistook them for Decepticons. 

Dodging the laser fire, Jetstorm looked over to his orange twin, worry mirroring their faceplates. “Brother, let us make like scarce!” Streaking away, their audials could just strain to hear shouts of “Decepticons!” and a warning klaxon ringing. Streaking around the whistles of laser fire, the twins sped back to the lab, landing roughly to the sight of a worried-looking Wheeljack.

“Are you too alright? Longarm Prime just called and said mechs mistook you for Decepticons!” Checking over the minor abrasions and grazes on the twin’s plating, Wheeljack’s headfins blinked in a rapid, worried pattern.

The two fliers were so caught up pacifying Wheeljack they didn’t notice Perceptor walking up until he was right behind his fellow scientist. Taking in the thankfully minor singes to their plating, as always, there was no reaction on his faceplates.

“They’re not damaged, are they Wheeljack?”

“No, sir, they’re not, thank Primus, they’re alright.” Perceptor just shot the other scientist a look before giving one last glance at the twins.

“Jetfire, Jetstorm, the medic has repair nanites. I suggest you get yourselves checked there immediately, then meet me in my office.” The twins looked to one another as the scientist turned on his heel and left. 

“Well, we is-” Jetfire started,

“-Slagged,” Jetstorm finished, looking at Wheeljack who was still looking at them worriedly. 

“Anyways, off to see the medic! Thanks to you Wheeljack, and hopefully Perceptor is less handed heavy with the testing!” Dashing off and babbling over their sparkbond, Wheeljack watched the twins leave, a slow flash from his helm fins and slight stoop to his posture the only sign of what was on his processor.

\----

“So any questions?” Bulkhead asked, looking at his two ‘students,’ as he grasped a pointer-rod in his servos. Bumblebee looked like he grasped as much as a sparkling, and Prowl seemed as if he was meditating, he was so deep in concentration. The only thing telling Bulkhead he was giving him his attention was the datapad in front of the Cyberninja, with notes of the small lecture and a picture of a basic transwarp drive.

“So, we just need to remove the transwarp doo-hickey and the spacebridge doesn’t work?” Bumblebee offered with a half-hearted raising of a servo in a lazy wave.

“Pretty much, you just have to disconnect them a certain way or else you’ll be sent warping around the galaxy with no way to coordinate back to a spacebridge.” Bulkhead offered, the other two bots blanching at how casually he spoke of the real possibility of disappearance into the reaches of space until the end of time.. 

“How about we go over that one more time?” Prowl offered, looking slightly uneased. Bulkhead smiled, turning back to the schematic. 

“So first you just need to disconnect the main plug to the spacebridge-” he droned, paid rapt attention from his students.

\----

Shockwave, to say the least, was not having an easy time. His processor-ache hadn’t improved in the two orns since he’d been released from the hospital. The twins were scaring everyone by flying, making everyone more alert for suspicious activity and leaving him with too many panicked civilians jumping at shadows and contacting Megatron quite a bit more difficult. Besides Longarm, the only ones who were able to represent the council were Perceptor and Elita, which proved two opposing challenges at causing disruptions for any plans to weaken the government.

Moving his head to try and find a new position that would provide some relief to the pain was only causing his vision to swim, any optical input he was taking from his true eye staticy and filled with flashes of bad code. Even with how dulled everything was, he could feel how tedious the whole injury was at the back if his processor, making it harder to follow his priority tree of helping the Decepticon cause from the Autobot side.

The only thing that had been a relief was the polite interactions with Blurr, as they were succinct, business-like, and over easily, leaving him with more information to work with in enacting his plan. Even then, it was hard to keep up with the Agent’s speech when he could barely turn on his audials without wincing.

Resisting the urge to slam his head on his desk full of unfinished datapads, he let out a hiss of pain as Cliffjumper made a comm call over the office-phone. “Sir, Medic Ratchet is here to see you, is now a good time?”

‘I will personally execute you two first when Megatron walks Cybertron triumphant.’ Putting on a pained grimace, Shockwave attempted to manipulate his mouth into an expression that looked a little more friendly. “Yes, it’s alright. He may come in.”

Ratchet walked in, took one look at Longarm, and promptly had to resist the urge to jab a needle full of painkillers into his neck and help ease how haggard he looked. “Lemme guess, the processor is hurting worse?”

Longarm nodded, Shockwave still wary of the medic after their last encounter about his processor scarring. He cautiously watched as Ratchet pulled out his scanner, resisting the urge to wince as his eye kept tabs on Ratchet’s body language and planning for what he was going to do.

Ratchet, for his part, was busy fiddling with his scanner before giving it a few hard whacks. “I’m just going to be making sure your processor damage hasn’t gotten worse.” Running a quick scan over Longarm, he noted that it was reporting heavier nanite-concentration in his processor, but that it hadn’t many, if any, signs of healing.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like it’s been getting better, even with your self-repair nanites working on it. I’d recommend either taking it easy and leaving your- oh don’t give me that look, I well-know you young bots need to never take a rest, but it’s good for you. Either that, or Wheeljack and a few of the other bots down in the Ministry of Science have been working on some new repair-nanites and might be able to use you for testing. That’s not a guarantee, but from what he’s told me about the stuff works well.” The look Ratchet gave as he was talking offered no room for further arguments, and no proposals of a third option for the Head of Cybertronian Intelligence.

“When would I be able to meet with Wheeljack for the injection?” Longarm kept his face looking politely interested, but Shockwave recoiled at the thought of dealing with other scientists. It was illogical, but he hadn’t quite been able to suppress it over the decavorns. At least the nanites would give him an excuse to gain a sample for himself and waste Autobot research and technology on a Decepticon.

“I’d say to go down on your meal break, but don’t eat beforehand. You might be nauseous and purging your tanks doesn’t help anybot.” Satisfied, Ratchet gave him one last look before he turned to leave the room. “And if I hear you didn’t go I will personally weld your aft to a berth and force you to heal.” With that, the grouchy medic was gone.

“Well that was pleasant,” Shockwave commented to no one in particular, feeling slightly better that there was a chance his pain would end soon. After that, it was working on the datapads and counting down the klicks until he could reasonably make an excuse and get the injection. Being unable to focus was leaving him at a much higher chance of exposure and jeopardizing his mission.

Exiting the office after a quick explanation to Cliffjumper, Longarm hurried as unsuspiciously as possible to where the front of the Ministry of Science was. His snooping around had provided information on many of the projects in the levels below Iacon, but he didn’t need to call on that information now. 

A minibot receptionist managed the front doors and droned for a ping of credentials, telling Longarm the room number in which to meet Wheeljack. It was a small laboratory with the mech hard at work, a berth shoved in one corner piled in scraps of projects and some suspicious-looking parts. Looking up from a part he was tinkering with, the scientist’s fins lit up in greeting.

“Hello Longarm-Prime, just take a seat over there,” he gestured with his wrench to a chair pulled up next to the berth, that was thankfully not covered in spare parts. “I’ll be with you in a moment, I just need to finish getting this stabilized.”

Shockwave maneuvered his body into the chair, wincing and offlining his optics as the movements just felt jarring in his processor. Wheeljack, putting down the small device that Shockwave wouldn’t be able to fully deconstruct without several orns in his own lab; went to a cold storage chest, which smoked as he opened the lid.

“Alright, so this I about all the nanites we have, and they’re really effective compared to your normal nanites, but we’re still running testing so they might have some unintended side effects. They should be strong enough to help fix the damage the blast left in your processor.” Wheeljack was holding a large syringe with a very dangerous looking needle, walking up to Longarm while talking.

Keeping his third eye on the needle when it wasn’t glitching, Longarm kept his faceplates polite but expectant, and gave the go ahead at Wheeljack’s, “You ready?”

Pressing the needle into Longarm’s neck, there was a sudden chain reaction. The small piece of equipment Wheeljack had been stabilizing jumped into the air with a loud BANG! It was a sudden surprise for Shockwave, and the noise only made his splitting headache blinding, causing him to jump in his chair. The plunger fully depressed, injecting the entire contents of the cold fluid into his neck.

When those few nanobreems had ended, Wheeljack and Longarm just looked at one another. “Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen.” Wheeljack offered, helmfins flashing in alarm. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling, alright?” Longarm offered numbly, Shockwave attempting to figure out what scenarios would play out now.

“Okay, well that was about five times the number of nanites you should have been injected with, and I haven’t tested if you can overdose a mech on these yet.” Wheeljack offered, going to a drawer in a cabinet and pulling out a medical-grade scanner. Running a scan over his plating, his fins flashed brighter at the results.

“So… What’s going to happen?” Shockwave colored the tone with anxiousness, but not outright panic. He couldn’t quite muster panic.

“I have no idea. I suggest just drinking some medical midgrade and hoping for the best, comm Ratchet if it gets worse or you feel like you’re having a spark attack.” 

Longarm just gave him an incredulous look, as even for being a scientist, not a doctor, Shockwave could tell that that statement was horribly illogical.

This was going to hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Feel free to visit my tumblr and ask questions, I'll be happy to answer them!


	8. A Trusting Soul

The wind and open roads had always proved to be the best medicine for Blurr, especially after being cooped up in the hospital. Elita, Longarm, and Ratchet had been sending him out on any courier deliveries containing sensitive information that couldn’t be sent over holovid. He didn’t mind it wasn’t his exact field of work, just being able to stretch his struts and put some distance between himself and the injuries he’d sustained was helping him feel better.

Elita had needed a message run into Polyhex, which proved quite simple due to the few mecha on the highways and easy time he had dodging those who were. He was running at nowhere near his top speed, still settling in the new struts the pressures he would be placing them under. His own nanites would be taking some time to build them up to Velocitronian grade, but they worked well enough.

Hitting Iacon’s city-limits, he slowed down as traffic on the roads increased, making his way back to Fortress Maximus to deliver a message from the appointed Representative of Polyhex to Longarm. He allowed himself a quick smile at the thought of interacting with his boss. He’d been forming the plan for a while now, but considering how lax the rules were now and the hectic situation, it was the perfect time to act.

Or, it would have been, if Longarm didn’t look like he was about to jump out the window head-first. His biolight flared as Blurr walked into the office, leaving the agent with the distinct feeling he was being watched. Shrugging it off, he unsubspaced the datapad to deliver, dropping it on the desk.

“Sir are you alright? I know you visited Ratchet after your processor injury but if it’s getting worse than you need to go visit him again before irreparable damage occurs. If you want I can go get you some coolant or something, I know when I’ve gotten processor injuries I sometimes have problems keeping my temperature stable, although normally I get cold.” Speaking in a rush, he noted that Longarm was making a valiant, yet futile attempt to pay attention.

“I-I’m going to g-g-go get you a cu-cube.” Blurr stuttered out slowly. Longarm’s state was making him a little anxious and itching to call Ratchet, but it also wasn’t his call to make unless there was an emergency. Luckily there was a dispenser kept in a nearby room for when there were large meetings within the intelligence division, and a cold cube of midgrade seemed the best choice.

Putting it back on the desk, he got a thankful smile that made his spark spin. “I-I’m go-going to Macaddam’s a-after work, maybe you would want to have a cube with me?” A polite smile was his reply.

“Sure? What time?” Taking a good look at Longarm’s face, his optics were slightly unfocused and couldn’t quite calibrate to compensate for it, but for all intents and purposes he seemed mentally there.

“When our shifts end, if that’s alright with you Sir. I’ll let you be, you’re probably very very busy and the injury on top of that probably isn’t helping and I’ll just let you get back to work.” Leaving the room, he waited until he was in an empty hallway before allowing a large grin on his face. ‘He said yes!’ The rest of his shift passed him by with a bounce in his step and a grin set to split his faceplate.

\----

Shockwave, on the other hand, wasn’t having an easy time with his work. His headache had grown to a splitting crescendo that was making his optics glitch from pain, a pounding in his processor making half the audio he processed register as a jumbled mess. He was honestly considering making a comm call to Ratchet, but something told him any more contact with the old medic would put him at a much higher chance for discovery.

So, he’d suffered silently in his office. His HUD was an even harder mess to make out than his normal vision, and he flicked it off, counting down the klicks as the pain just seemed to become more incessant. 

Blurr coming into his office with more work, while not the most pleasant distraction, that being having the headache actually go away, was something to put a bit of distance from the pain. 

“Sir are you-?” The rest was a static whine, Blurr speaking far too fast for his processor to register it as anything other than a high pitched drone. Luckily, this Autobot agent was at least slightly more competent than his peers, as he could clearly read the thoughts Shockwave wanted him to read on his faceplates.

As Blurr left the room he allowed himself a moment to offline his optics and give the slagging glitching things a rest. From what he could make out from the stutters, Blurr was going to be back the room in a moment, so he couldn’t switch off his audials to give himself more reprieve.

A cube was left on his desk, and without thinking, he accepted the invitation to the bar. Primus was at least merciful enough to keep the communications succinct and to the point. Something was feeling warm in his spark as the agent left, his lipplates glitching and twitching because of the ache in his processor and nothing else a scan could tell him.

Attempting to focus on reports right now was the last thing he was able to do, absentmindedly reaching for the cube. His chemoreceptors told him it was a normal, unadulterated cube of midgrade, if a little more chilled than midgrade was usually served. There had to be something else in it he wasn’t being told, as something seemed off with the energon.

Well, his processor was already killing him, this couldn’t get much worse. 

The cube dropped with a clunk on his desk after only a mouthful.

He could _taste_ it.

Why was he _tasting it!_

Something like panic bubbled in his chest, making his spark feel as if it was clenching and his near-empty tank turn over. Taking a deep vent, he reached for the cube where it had dropped, noting how hard his servo was shaking. ‘Just test it again, check if the same results occur.’

Bringing the cube to his lips, he took a thick swallow. The taste of energon coated his tongue, cool and sweet with just the right amount of minerals. Something seemed to flick a switch in his processor as he downed the whole cube, staring at it. It took a long moment for him to process that the pain his his had lessened to much less than what it had been.

He licked around his mouth, oral fluids still thick with energon, and felt on the verge of a processor crash. His vision wasn’t glitching and he didn’t feel the pounding in his processor anymore, just a slight ache. Thinking over his previous interactions, a warning from Wheeljack he hadn’t paid full enough attention to came to the front of his memory files.

_“I suggest just drinking some medical midgrade and hoping for the best, comm Ratchet if it gets worse or you feel like you’re having a spark attack.”_ He’d felt so nauseous he hadn’t heeded the warning. Shockwave resisted the urge to slap himself for ignoring such a simple solution.

But if the nanites had fixed the relays between his processor and his mouth, what else had been fixed? A curiosity he hadn’t felt curled up in his tanks, leaving him feeling, not anxious, but _giddy_. 

His head felt a lot clearer and he began to run a self diagnostic, pulling up routines that had been blocked after the surgery. The memory left a panicked feeling in his stomach as an unbidden memory file pulled to the forefront, as flash of tools before his optics, restraints and a too-cold berth seeping into his back struts.

Shaking his head, he tried to focus on what was happening and prevent the unnecessary memories from flooding his processor. Finding the code took precious time in his panic, and he was shaking when he finally turned it off. Sitting at his desk, he stared at the datapads as more forgotten things pulled to the forefront of his processor.

‘Stay in the moment, focus on your mission.’ He reminded himself. He could focus on what happened when he got off work in the evening and was back in his apartment and…

His spark flared and clenched as it reminded him of the blue agent he promised to have a cube with. So much for having the free time to process what was happening. Grabbing one of the datapads he’d abandoned when he could no longer focus, he eyed the empty cube warily as his spark warmed and his tanks clenched.

He was not going to be having an easy time of this.

\-----

Elita was not having an easy time. Besides the busywork of keeping Cybertron running, she didn’t have much going for her in the way of keeping her mind occupied away from worrying about Optimus and Sentinel. She has thrown herself into her training the past few orns, more of her plating dented than not, but it wasn’t enough of a distraction to stop the painful clenching in her spark as she thought of her two dearest in danger.

It turns out when throwing herself too hard into her training over the past orns had left her with a cracked optic glass and deep dents that nearly split in her plating, Ratchet ordering her to see the therapist before she did something more permanent. And it had only been an orn since her talk with him.

She sat outside the office like a petulant newbuild, swinging her legs in the seat that was just slightly too big for her as she looked at some of the smaller dents pockmarking her hand. Ratchet had banged most of larger ones out so self-repair could handle the rest. 

Before she could be fully lost in thought the door opened to reveal a small orange bot that probably only came to Bumblebee’s chin, one that looked like he could be bent in half with the slightest flick of a finger.

“Ah, hello! You’re Elita Magnus, I’m presuming?” The bot offered, smiling kindly as she stood up. She winced a little at the title, reminded of the responsibility she was shouldering until Ultra Magnus could be rescued.

“Ah yes, I’d just prefer to be called Elita.” She followed the bot into the office, noting the neutral gray walls and colorful model ships on every shelf, with a few datapads and decorative crystals placed here and there to give a comfortable feel to the room. The desk was with two chairs, one probably the psychiatrist’s, the other the patient's. Which meant it was her chair.

“Alright then, Elita, I’m Rung, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” His tone was friendly, EM field a mixture of calm neutrality and polite interest, without feeling overwhelming. Elita made an attempt to make sure her EM field was presentable, smoothing out the jagged worry and nervousness that rolled off her in waves. “Now, you were recommended to me due to the unusual situation that has occurred here on Cybertron. I understand you are attempting to keep up appearances in front of the public, but don’t worry about speaking freely here. Nothing leaves this room unless it is deemed necessary to prevent harm to yourself or others.”

His speaking voice and mannerisms gave off a tranquil aura, and Elita felt a loosening in her plating from where she’d been clamping the armor under stress. After a few moments of silence as he watched her settle herself, he began speaking again.

“I was told you were recommended to come here due to issues with adjusting to your position and general stress, but something tells me that there’s more than that. Would you care to share?” He let the question hang, pressing for more information without pushing her to force out a reply she didn’t feel comfortable giving.

Something about the bot’s demeanour made most of the walls she’d been feeling start to crack. Her plating flared out in a mixture of panic and snapping tension as the words tumbled out of her vocalizer in a rush. “The two people I trust most in the world are trapped out there, and I’m here, and I don’t know how to get to them. I can’t keep a team together, let alone an entire planet, everyone assumes I know what I’m doing, and _I let Decepticons into Iacon_. What kind of leader does that make me when Decepticons are in Iacon!” She felt her vents picked up, attempting to not overheat her frame.

The psychiatrist listened thoughtfully, letting her get everything out without even making a motion to interrupt her near-hysterical tirade. When she finished, she took a few deep, hiccuping vents, trying to keep any optical fluid from leaking. As she attempted to calm down and bring her breathing under control, Rung noted how her armor was tightening again, being held much too stiffly to ever look comfortable.

When she was under control again, he typed out a few quick glyphs on a datapad and smiled warmly. She felt herself relaxing minutely again, the calm field soothing the jagged edges of hers towards something approaching okay.

“Elita, the Decepticons in Iacon were not your fault. You must know this, even if your Spark seems to be rejecting this. Nobody could have properly predicted an attack, even Ultra Magnus himself. You did what you felt was best and even drove off a Decepticon.” Hearing it spelled out rationally was helping her release some of the tension. 

“I understand you’re worried, but you need to realize that you have been acting competently, and you can’t let the stress give you a spark attack.” There was a gentle chiding in his tone, as if they were old friends catching up over a cube, and as the joor slipped by she felt herself more and more relaxed, talking about Optimus and Sentinel and some of the insane hijinks that they’d done in the Academy.

“Well, out time for this session is up,” Rung noted, making a glance to the clock on his datapad. “I think that we should continue these visits regularly, especially considering how taxing this situation has become in such a short period of time. If you’re free two orns from now, I think regular visits and attempting to find healthier coping mechanisms will help with dealing with the situation.”

“Thanks,” Elita offered, feeling much better than she had in a while, even with her worries over Optimus and Sentinel. Actually letting it out and putting it into words was giving her renewed confidence that she could help save them. “When should we schedule our meeting?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for reading the chapter and I hope you have a wonderful day! So, there are a few things we need to talk about.
> 
> My finals in school are quickly approaching, and I have major projects I need to devote time and energy to. After that, I'll be out of the country from late June to late August. To help prevent rushed or skipped chapters, especially with Junior Year of High School quickly approaching, I'm making an executive decision to put this story on Hiatus until the first Sunday in September.
> 
> This will allow me to get a good 15-20 chapter buffer written, guaranteeing good updates, and making sure none of the chapters are rushed because I needed to hit the schedule.
> 
> I apologize for being such short notice, but I needed to get all my plans finalized. So mark your calenders for September 6th, hit the subscribe button so you never have to worry about remembering, and I'll see you all when summer's over!


	9. A Treacherous Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE BACK! :D Here's the next chapter of A Capable Leader!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited due to some busyness adjusting back to my regular life, I'll polish this chapter at a later date. Thank you for coming back, and welcome new readers!

To say Shockwave felt nervous was an understatement. He’d finally had the health to focus on the datapads, but his processor kept drifting to thoughts of the sleek blue agent and their upcoming date. If he was being honest, he’d only agreed because he needed the agent out of the room so he could get his head in order.

 

Focusing back on the datapad he was reading with a small admonishment for not keeping focused, he noted that it was the proposed plan Elita had drafted for getting Bulkhead, Bumblebee, and Prowl to the spacebridge nexus subtly without tipping off the Decepticons for as long as possible. Allowing a small quirk of the lipplates, he pulled out a secondary, blank datapad with a Decepticon logo embossed on the back of the case, making sure it was hidden from any of Fortress Maximus’ cameras.

 

Unspooling a cable, he jacked it in, copying all the data on the pad to an encrypted folder. Subspacing it, no need to leave it on the desk when so many were walking in and out of his office, he let the download conclude as he pulled another datapad from the pile, this one on the various energon stockpiles of the cities and their upward trends. That hadn’t been the case for vorns, most had been scrambling to feed the people and many of the poor had fallen through the cracks.

 

‘So Bulkhead was right,’ he noted, making a quick reminder in HUD to tell Megatron about the farm’s output and how to increase it through some of the Decepticons engineering. Keeping an army of warframes fed hadn’t been easy, and most of the energon they got tasted like sludge, but it had been fuel.

 

The rest of the datapads were on various topics that didn’t normally fall within his division’s parameters during times where leadership was robust, such as business deals and notes on different leader’s dealings, but an Autobt could never be too careful when there were Decepticons afoot. And a Decepticon could never have too much information on his enemies.

 

Gathering more information for Megatron while working made the time pass by quickly, and as he disengaged from pouring over a datapad about how Polyhex and Altihex were getting along, he noted he had only a few breems until his shift ended. His vocalizer seemed to stall in his throat as his processor began to lock up in his head, his tanks tying into knots as he felt like he was going to purge the energon he was drinking.

 

Only the thought of blowing his cover by being too nervous helped him try to calm down, even though he still felt anxious. As he was tidying up the datapads and locking them away in his desk to prevent prying eyes, a comm call came from the holovid in his office. It was tagged with Cliffjumper’s ID.

 

“Longarm Prime, Sir, Agent Blurr is here to see you.”

 

“Ah, just give me a moment and I’ll be right out.” Locking up the last of the drawers, he had to fight to keep a polite-neutral field when all he wanted to do was purge the remaining energon he’d drank out of his tanks.

 

Taking a calming vent, he gave one last look at the tidied, impersonal office and walked through the door, giving a few pleasantries to Cliffjumper as he kept his optic on Blurr; who was standing politely near a wall with only the slightest twitching in his plating betraying his glitch. He offered a polite smile, and attempted to ignore the spinning of his spark when it was genuinely returned.

 

“Hello Longarm Prime Sir you’re feeling much better I take it?” The words came out in a tumble, clear enunciation from Blurr’s lipplates and Shockwave was hit by the sudden urge to push him against the wall and see how they would feel against his mouth.

 

He resisted the urge to shake his head and clear his processor. Intrusive thoughts about his subordinates were not what he needed right now! “I’m feeling much better now, thanks to that cube.” Blurr straightened his already near-perfect posture from the relaxed slouch it had been in, giving Cliffjumper a polite yet clipped farewell as they went to the door.

 

Leaving Fortress Maximus, it was a quiet night for Cybertron. Luna 1 hanging low in the sky and casting a pale blue light from reflecting bases and Cybertron’s own luminosity. Mecha were out strolling, bonded hand-in-hand enjoying the quiet night, and the atmosphere proved quite peaceful considering the looming Decepticon threat.

 

Blurr led him from the quiet, well-ordered streets near Fortress Maximus to an area with a little more, “character,” but still nowhere near a slum. A low little building with a large plate glass window and a sign, “Maccadam’s Old Oil House,” blinking merrily in the twilight.

 

The inside looked worn, yet cozy, crowded with mechs of all walks of life, including some from the Elite Guard. There was a niggling feeling in the back of Shockwave’s processor that he’d seen this scene before, but he couldn’t quite place it and it left him with a vague sense of unease. A stream of noise from his right brought his attention back to the situation at hand.

 

“The booth in the back appears to be empty although it’s hard to tell from here, and it gives a bit of privacy although if you’d prefer to sit at the bar it would allow for faster service. Which one would you prefer Sir?” The torrent took Blurr only a third of the time for a normal mech to say, and that was slow for him. It did make him easier to understand in the general din of the bar.

 

“I think a booth would be better, it can be hard to hear in here. I’ll get the drinks?” He offered, keeping up the polite smile as he resisted the urge to clamp his armor and purge.

 

“Ah, sure. I’ll just take a cube of purple highgrade, it’s not all that intense for racing frames.” Shockwave noted how Blurr seemed to cut himself off from babbling, and made a note of it in his processor as he went to the bar. The purple highgrade was a quick order to fill, and since getting drunk didn’t sound like a logical idea for a spy needing to keep his cover, a slightly acidic green highgrade with a shot of oil seemed to be a good choice.

 

‘He was right when he said the booth offered privacy,’ flitted through his processor as he set down the cube, offering a much more genuine smile as Blurr stopped his fingers from tapping a staccato beat on the table. The slight shaking in his pauldrons and a bump against the table told him his legs were probably shaking.

 

“Well, cheers.” Longarm offered, raising his glass in a version of a mock-salute before taking a sip.

 

He promptly resisted the urge to spit it all back out.

 

“You might want to be careful with that, their oil can be a little strong if you’re not used to it because the owner lets it sit for a while but it’s actually quite clean considering the look of the place.” Blurr noted, a quick quirk of the lips at seeing the face Longarm pulled.

 

“A little? This tastes like battery acid!” There was no real venom behind the words, and the ridiculous expression he copped helped defuse  some of the nervous tension that had been poking through Blurr’s EM field.

 

“Don’t worry, you’ll probably adjust pretty quick especially since that’s one of the milder ones they offer here.” Blurr took a few sips from his own cube, finishing off about a quarter and not looking visibly affected.

 

Shockwave couldn’t stop himself from pulling another face before getting the persona back under his control, Longarm drinking the energon without so many visible tells that the taste felt like it was going to melt his tongue.

 

About halfway through the cube and polite conversation about work, Shockwave could feel where the energon was affecting him, servodigits and pedes sending minute tingles through his neuronet from the charge. He easily redirected it to the portions of his frame where it would harmlessly wear off to keep his processor clear.

 

Blurr was nearly done with his, slowing down on the drinking so they’d finish about the same time. He barely looked affected from the beverage, the only thing it seemed to be doing was making him forget that other mechanisms, especially overcharged ones, couldn’t always keep up with his talking speed.

 

“And that’s how it turns out that gluing someone’s plating to the berth right before the Speedia 500 could actually help make them more aerodynamic. They didn’t win of course, they hadn’t had the upgrades to really compete for the top, but they did win the bet.” The story had the slimmer agent smiling wistfully, staring at his empty glass as he turned it.

 

It had been quite easy to get the conversation to Blurr talking about his homeworld, a backwater place Shockwave could honestly say he’d never been, Velocitron. It was far from Cybertron and the Elite Guard, and from what Blurr described of the planet, racing and speed meant everything.

 

It wasn’t much information, but the war the agent lit up as his EM field gave off waves of nostalgia was interesting to watch. Taking a pull from his own cube, something in the back of his mind told him to push on the agent and see if there was any more information he could get. “So, did you ever participate in the Speedia 500?”

 

“Lots of times. I never wanted to win though, trying to keep an entire planet together is not my area of expertise. Besides, once you hit the really top levels of racing there were too many ‘accidents,’ and I can’t keep out of running too long or it just-” he cut himself off abruptly, a light pink tinting his cheeks as embarrassment tinged his field. “Anyway, it’s getting late.” While still early in the evening, only about the 21st joor, the patrons were starting to get rowdy and Blurr didn’t want to be arrested for a barfight when he had work in the morning.

 

“Are you alright to drive because I know my overcharge levels are nowhere near the limits but I’m not exactly sure what the grade of the oil was in your drinks?” A factlet popped up in Shockwave’s processor as he decoded the agent’s speech. Racing frames were only below flight-frames and very heavy machinery in terms of energy needs, making them quite efficient and normally going for Vosnian Highgrade to get overcharged. So Blurr was probably safe to drive, and he knew he was safe to drive thanks to all of his subspaced mass spreading out the charge, but he honestly didn’t want the date to be over so soon.

 

“I’m fine to drive, but walking sounds good.” He suggested, unable to keep a smile from his faceplates as something in his spark pulsed. Having already paid when he’d grabbed the drinks, it was easy to maneuver the taller agent out of the bar and into the night. The streetlamps cast a soft glow on the sidewalks as mecha strolled, enjoying a quiet evening as some of the more rowdy bars were beginning to liven up.

 

“So where do you come from Longarm? Your accent’s really neutral so nobody’s ever been able to really tell and you never really talked with mecha in work outside of work not that that’s bad or anything but it just means nobody knows much about you not that that’s wrong or anything.” Blurr offered, segueing into their earlier conversation to get Longarm to offer his own perspective on where he was from.

 

It was only vorns upon vorns of practice that kept any panic or shock out of Longarm’s EM Field, Shockwave blanking at the innocent question as his processor raced to form a lie that would be easy to believe. He felt threads crash in panic as he attempted to use the knowledge he’d gained of Cybertron and the planets to form the dishonesty. Well, the easiest lies always used the truth.

 

“I was actually forged here in Iacon, but the factory shut down recently.” That was actually the truth, if the assumed dates were wrong thanks to the applications forged when entering the Elite Guard. He resisted the urge to sigh out his vents when Blurr bought the lie.

 

“Yes, a lot of the factories have been shutting down due to the energon shortages, Ultra Magnus was claiming that we need to do our part and that means no sparking bots until things can get a bit more under control. It’s a lot different here on Cybertron, I can tell you that much. We had issues with the energon farms on Velocitron and there was some bad times until one of the mechs figured out using the equator winds to help the purification. I haven’t been back in a while so I’m not fully sure how Velocitron is doing as of now.” Blurr easily rattled off that sentence without a break, Shockwave keeping his real optic watching the interesting shapes his mouth made as he spit out the tumble in the time it took most bots to say, ‘that’s nice.’

 

Strolling along the street as the conversation turned towards more mundane ones, but some of the answers Blurr gave about his home planet were honestly surprising. Shockwave had been able to hide on Cybertron much better than most of the other Decepticons, who had been hiding near planets such as Lithone and Quintessa, too far from Cybertron proper to become involved in their politics as long as it stayed out of the Galactic Council.

 

Hearing about how isolated some of the planets were without the spacebridge nexus made it seem to be even more of a priority to take and control before the bridges were closed and some of the already-forgotten planets were left to fend for themselves. Considering how bad some of the records had been kept, he knew better than to trust any official word on how many Cybertronian colonies there were.

 

Only keeping half a processor on the conversation, it took Shockwave longer than he preferred to notice they were back in the Elite Guard’s apartment housing, much closer to his own house than he’d noticed. At least it gave him an out to end the ‘date’ and get his new plans to Megatron.

 

Turning back to the conversation, it was easy to begin taking his leave. “I’m sorry to go, especially on such a nice evening, but I have to take care of some work before the morning.” He felt something in his spark twinge as he looked at Blurr, but pushed it to the side in favor of completing the task.

 

“Well I don’t want to keep you waiting especially because it’s getting late and I know you’re a busy mech and I’m probably keeping you from recharge by now but allow me to walk you to your door?” Shockwave had to run the glyphs through his processor twice before Longarm agreed, noting Blurr’s slight nervousness.

 

“I don’t see why not. I live a little bit further up the road.” Making it to the door without incident as the conversation wound down, some old protocol told Shockwave he needed to see the interaction through to end. Turning to finish up the pleasantries, it seemed Blurr had jumped the gun, servos wringing a little nervously as his lipplates moved a mile a minute.

 

“-I really enjoyed our time together sir and I know we’re both going to be super busy with helping Elita and our respective jobs but I really would like to invite you to dinner again at some point if you’re not too busy with work. I probably shouldn’t be keeping you now but thank you very much for accepting my invitation and I’ll be seeing you at work tomorrow.” Taking a deep vent, Shockwave noticed Blurr was moving closer.

 

It took him a good 5 klicks to notice that he was still standing on his doorstep, faceplates tingling where Blurr had kissed him long after the other bot had hastily sped off. Shockwave found a servo reaching up without prompting where his cheekplate felt warm, a portion of Blurr’s lip catching his jaw-guard.

 

Walking inside, even with the command trees telling him to form a report of the plans and contact Lord Megatron, it took a good while for him to snap out of the haze and grab a hidden datapad to write out the new intel. When it was finally satisfactory, after no small amount of annoying distractions as his processor seemed to wander, he was finished.

 

Checking the street’s security, he noted how no bots were about, and calmly left. The charge being near fully dissipated, leaving only a slight warmth in his circuits, going to a slightly shadier district just outside Fortress Maximus held the perfect spot to sneak into the tunnels. As usual, they were damp, puddles of oil dripping from rusting pipes as cyberrats scurried haphazardly across the walls and ceiling. Save for the glares of red and blue from his optics there were no lights.

 

Easily finding his way through by memory, he felt his T-Cog whirl as he shifted back to his true colors, relaxing a little from the added sensory his antenna gave when they weren’t constantly touching his faceplates. Settling down in front of an old computer monitor he'd set up stellar cycles ago, it whirred to life as he accessed one of the more secure frequencies to send a hail to Megatron’s flagship. His spark whirled a little and his tanks clenched uncomfortably, but it was easy to hide any trace of it as the screen flickered to a blurry image of his lord.

 

“Ah, Shockwave, do you have any new reports about our little resistance problem?” Megatron looked on with an unreadable expression in his optics, chin in hand as if he was sitting through one of Lugnut’s speeches instead of important mission information. Something hot flashed in his chest, but the datapad full of notes reminded him of what needed to be done.

 

“My Liege, it seems tomorrow on the eleventh joor, the Autobots are planning to send a small team through the spacebridge network to disable it and prevent us from using it to access Cybertron. Data strongly suggests we send a strike-team through now to begin taking Cybertron before any other potential recruiting is cut off.” Megatron made a pensive face, processing their previous plans and the new data being received.

 

“While we will move up the invasion, I cannot authorize a strike-team at this time. You will continue to gather information, and you will await further orders.” Megatron glanced away from the screen, already moving his focus onto the next task when he still wasn’t done.

 

“But Lord Megatr-”

 

“Megatron out.”

 

Sitting in the damp, with only the small glow of a screen and his biolights to piece the gloom, the niggling feeling he’d felt before coming back much stronger. His antennae twitched at the sensations from his spark, a painful clench he could identify as anger and some other emotion that made him feel like his plating was both too hot and too confining. He fluffed it angrily, shutting down the terminal, as unbidden thought threads pulled up the many times he’d been ignored.

 

Only now, he could feel the emotional response he should of had to them. And clutching his servos, he extended his arm and slammed it into the concrete. ‘But it’s for the good of the cause,’ he thought bitterly, clutching the datapad tighter as more memory files played. Moving out of the tunnels like a wraith, his servo throbbed from where he’d crumpled the rusting metal.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and I'm glad to say I'll be getting a school computer this week so we can get back to regular writing! 
> 
> ALSO NOTE: We'll be updating every two weeks from now on!


	10. An Apology to the Readers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, not a chapter, and we might not get some for a bit of time

Dear Readers,

I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for reading and enjoying ACL.

However, my life doesn't always let me do the things I'd like to do most without taking care of the things I need to do.

Due to a busy Junior year schedule, I only have a small piece of time to write, and am sometimes too exhausted to muster the energy or will to write.

So I offer my apologies, but after already taking a two-month vacation, I need to say that I have to redact my promise of bi-weekly updates for the sake of being able to deliver a more quality story.

Once I have written 5 buffer chapters, I will begin posting again, and until then there will be some shot ficlets written for other pairings and the start of some other plots as well.

My apologies, but it's the only way to deliver quality updates instead of rushing a mess.

Thank you very much, and I hope I can update you all with a new chapter or a story soon.

Thank you!

SoDoLaFaMiDoRe


	11. An Update for my Readers(Not a Chapter, Sorry!!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick update, and for the CliffNotes version, ACL IS NOT DEAD!!

Dear Readers,

So many very Important things happened over the last couple of months!!

I have been lucky enough to graduate a year early from school, so when summer hits, I can put most of my effort into writing! :D

I will also not be off to college until January of 2017, so I'll have about 7 months of less-strict scheduling that will keep me much less stressed and with much more free time!!

ACL has not been abandoned! :D Expect an update to the story around the end of June!! :D

See you all in the summer!!

SoDoLaFaMiDoRe


	12. A Nefarious Plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back dear readers! And can I say I'm happy to be here! This chapter's only clocking in at about 300 words, but I think getting this onto print will help bring back the momentum for the story!

“You’re telling me two of my most experienced warriors couldn’t take out a measly group of Autobots!” Megatron appeared to be debating whether or not it would be a wiser course of action to beat his generals or toss them out the airlock.

“LUGNUT HIT ME-And now I need to express my anger in song~!” Blitzwing switched, dancing around to some annoying tune he hummed off key as Lugnet was laying prone on the floor, providing a constant litany of apologies. 

Unicron damn them both to the pit his processor was aching from this chaos. “Lugnut, stop bowing. Both of you have failed your mission, and unless you-” He was about ready to throw himself out the airlock as Starscream strode into the room, haughty facpelates set in a scowl as he twitched his wings, one obviously stiffer than the other.

“When I get my servos on that blasted Autobot the first thing I’ll be doing is force-fueling him his own tires!” 

Megatron resisted the urge to wince at his Second-in-Command’s piercing tone. The Air Commander was still surly that some measly little Autobot had jammed a wheel into his frame, and honestly Megatron was getting ready to shove Starscream’s wings into his vocalizer to shut him up. 

“Starscream, do you have  _ anything _ to contribute to recover from today’s failures?” Lugnut cut in with more apologies, albeit bellowed in his quietest tone, and was cut off with a glare from the warlord. Starscream, still twitching angrily, stormed out of the room instead of responding. There was no use dealing with this incompetent excuse for a Second in Command!

“As I was saying,” Megatron sighed, “This failure needs to be righted. Blitzwing, I need you to prepare our _honored_ _guests_ for potential negotiations.” Icy took over and nodded, leaving the room as Megatron turned to Lugnut. For all his annoying tendencies, Megatron needed the mech’s firepower to help prepare Cybertron for his arrival.

“Lugnut, I am entrusting you to make sure that this rag-tag attempt at a resistance is vanquished. Strike them at dawn tomorrow, and do not fail me again.” He felt a processor ache coming on as Lugnut continued to sing his praises and thank him for his second chance, but no matter. One small setback didn’t mean he had lost much advantage, especially considering his advantage on the inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope to see you at the next update! (Hopefully sooner rather than later!)


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